GILBERTIAN GOSSIP
No. 43
EDITORIAL
Some time ago I received a detailed criticism of GILBERTIAN GOSSIP from an American reader, who claimed that my reviews were destructive, insensitive and ill-informed, and that they were of no value because they probably did not represent "popular" opinion. The following represents the substance of my reply; I would be interested in any comments readers may have on it.
The first point is that to criticise is not necessarily to condemn. Indeed, to be uncritical is to fail to properly understand, and therefore to appreciate. The writer seemed to be under the bizarre impression that because I criticise a production I therefore did not enjoy it. All his criticism of me seemed to be based on totally erroneous assumptions. He said that I consider myself an expert on G&S production. I have never said so. I merely express my personal opinion. It is possible that after reading what I have written, one might decide to regard me as an expert, but if so, that is a private opinion. He further said "I do express concern that your reviews may not reflect popular opinion ...". But who ever suggested that any review should? Actually, I think I know the answer, but the only reason I do is because I heard an interview given by the impressario Cameron Mackintosh on Irish radio a year ago. He pointed out that American press criticism differs fundamentally from British. I was amazed to hear him say that most American cities have only one major newspaper (whereas in Britain there are several) and that that critic's view is taken to be "gospel". In Britain no-one would dream of suggesting this. A critic's review is assumed to be precisely what it is - the personal opinion of one person.
In Britain no two critics ever agree about the merits of a particular production - and I would have thought it would have been obvious that my practice of, whenever possible, including several differing reports on a production - which frequently disagree fundamentally with my own, would have borne this out. I know more than one person who react in adverse relationship to anything a critic says. However, my correspondent continued: "Americans tend to be tender - even generous [-] when we write a review". My experience of clippings from American newspapers which have been sent me from time to time, does not bear this out. Most of those I have seen have been vitriolic, even vindictive, and often ill-informed. I certainly would not have said that they claimed to reflect "popular opinion".
I was born in Northern Ireland, where there is virtually no professional theatre (this must apply to large parts of the USA as well) and the amateur theatre was far from being a dilettante passtime, but an important part of the social life of the area, and of the city of Belfast, where I worked for 6 years from 1962 to 1966. Audiences expected and received the very highest standards of performance. As well as this, the "local" Belfast papers were also the national papers for the country. It was quite possible for a prominent company or a good amateur actor to be known all over Northern Ireland. It was not unusual for one to be stopped in the street by a perfect stranger who would say "I saw you in such and such the other night, I enjoyed it, but I thought ..." and would discuss the merits and demerits of the production in a totally friendly and objective way. I recall one Belfast critic pointing out that the actors in the company in question were forced through circumstances to earn their living by taking other jobs, but leaving no doubt that acting was the raison d'etre of their existence. And he was right. In many ways amateur theatre was valued more highly than professional (as it was in imperial China). When the late Hilton Edwards (a famous actor from the Gate Theatre in Dublin), came to adjudicate in the 1960s at the finals of the Northern Ireland Drama Festivals at the Grand Opera House in Belfast, and said that he thought the very best of amateur drama was on a level with the very worst of professional, he was hissed by the audience.
When I came to the London area I was fortunate to move into the sort of circles where the same sort of criteria apply. The Richmond Shakespeare Society, to which I have belonged since 1968, have their own theatre which they run entirely on their own. Ralph MacPhail came to see a production there a few years ago, and expressed amazement at the high standard of production (and it was a production that was far from being one of our best). He couldn't believe that the whole set-up was run by unpaid staff, which he said you would never have got in the States. "Don't you even have a paid administrator?" he asked. The Richmond Shakespeare Society regard themselves as fully professional in every way, except that nobody gets paid. There are plenty of other such societies in Britain.In Britain, there has always been a tradition of the amateur. In my “profession”, ornithology, much of the work has been, and is still, done by unpaid workers. Much, if not all, of the early groundwork for the science was conducted by men who were of private means and devoted themselves to the study of the discipline without pay. They were thus technically “amateurs”, but they knew as much about the subject as any professional.
The great choirs of England are made up entirely of amateur singers, and admission is strictly controlled - you have to be very good to be allowed to sing with them - and pay a large subscription for the privilege. And there are many operatic companies which employ professional singers (with or without pay) to play leading roles, and amateurs for the chorus and smaller roles. My correspondent may not have realised that a number of the singers that I criticised were not in fact strictly amateurs at all, but semi-professionals; i.e. people who have daytime jobs, but take professional singing engagements in the evening when they can get them, and at other times sing for nothing (and love) in amateur concerts and productions.
Here are two quotes which may or may not be relevant. One is by John Craig Toy commenting on me as far back as 1971 in The Jack Point Press - "He loves G&S enough to review it honestly". The other (which has nothing to do with me or G&S) is from an American now resident in Britain, the TV personality Lloyd Grossman: "Anything the British do as amateurs is brilliant. It's only when they become professionals that it's more hit and miss" (Radio Times 4-10 June 1994, p. 41.).
The last point I should make is that one of my fields of study is the first night press reports of the Savoy Operas, which I have been examining in the British Library. In Gilbert & Sullivan's day, there were over 70 newspapers in London which would send critics to a first night and printed long and detailed reviews, often of several columns (not the miserable little perfunctory reviews one gets today). However, in spite of all this verbiage, often describing the costumes and scenery in minute detail, remarkably little of any lasting value is said about the performers. One looks in vain for comments as to what Rosina Brandram's voice really sounded like, or how Richard Temple interpreted such and such a character. That people could write such in-depth comments is shown by a wonderful book by one Arthur Goddard called "Players of the Period". Unfortunately, he only treats of 2 Savoyards, Grossmith and Barrington, but what dazzling and vivid accounts he gives of them. If only the real connoisseurs in the audience (and there were evidently many of them) could have left accounts of what they thought of the productions. In GG I have made a modest attempt to describe exactly what the production and performances were really like. I don't claim that I'm always right, but I do claim that I am always sincere.
*
Gilbert & Sullivan Society
11 May 1994
the Waterloo Warblers
present
Songs of the Savoy
Part 1.
Excerpts from JANE ANNIE
First performed Savoy Theatre, 13 May to 1 July 1893 (50 performances).
Libretto: J.M. Barrie and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Music: Ernest Ford.
no. 2. Song - Jane Annie - Melanie McRae
no. 3. Song - Bab - Veronica McCall
no. 4. Song - Proctor - Brendan Beales
no. 6. Duet: Sim & Greg - Chris Gutteridge & Kevin McRae
no. 7. Song - Tom - Sandy Kennedy
no. 11. Pages's Song - Stephen Milton
no. 13. Song - Miss Sims - Zo White
no. 19: Duet - Bab and Tom - Veronica McCall & Sandy Kennedy
AFTER ALL
First performed at the Opera Comique from 16 or 23 December 1878 to 20 February 1880, as an afterpiece to H.M.S. Pinafore and was given on the famous night of the riots. It then accompanied the "Children's Pinafore" until 20 March 1880.
Words: Frank Desprez. Music: Alfred Cellier.
Mr. Selworthy - Michael Walters
Mr. Pennyfather - Chris Gutteridge
The maid - Melanie McRae
Fifteen minutes with George Grossmith - Leon Berger
THE VICAR OF BRAY
Originally produced at the Globe Theatre on 22 July 1882, revised for production at the Savoy from 28 January to 18 June 1892 (143 performances).
Libretto: Sydney Grundy Music: Edward Solomon
Duet: The Wily Widower - Selwyn Tillett & Zo White (Vicar & Mrs. Merton).
Solo: You ask me why - Zo White
THE GONDOLIERS - Scene: Casilda & Luiz - Veronica McCall & Stephen Milton.
INTERVAL
Part 2
COX & BOX Mr. Cox - Kevin McRae
Mr. Box - Sandy Kennedy
Mr. Bouncer - Brendan Beales
This appeared in the G&S Society annals as a concert of "rarely heard Gilbert and Sullivan" !!
The London Musical Stage of 1894
by Michael Walters
This paper is based on a talk and concert given to the Gilbert and Sullivan Society of London on Thursday 17 November 1994. There were some last minute changes in cast owing to the sudden illness of Brendan Beales, who could not be present. Victor Golding, who was in the audience, offered to sing two numbers without rehearsal, and in the following programme, the names in square brackets indicate the singer who was originally intended
to sing that number.
Singers: [Brendan Beales], Victor Golding, Christopher Gutteridge, Orla Kennedy, Cassie Leanaghan, Kevin McRae, Melanie McRae, Selwyn Tillett, Michael Walters, Zoe White.
At the piano: Selwyn Tillett [and Brendan Beales].
Narrator: Michael Walters
MIRETTE: By Harry Greenbank, Frederic E. Weatherly, Adrian Ross and Andre Messager.
When winter gales were loud (Francal)- Kevin
Long ago in Alcala (Bobinet)- Chris
The programme (Marquise & Bobinet)- Zoe & Chris
When Noah sailed (Bobinet, Picorin & Gerard) - Chris, Kevin & [Brendan] Selwyn
Once a cavalier of Spain (Mirette)- Orla
The Long Bow song (Bobinet & Zerbinetta)- Chris & Melanie
Does he remember (Bianca & Gerard; old version) - Kevin & Melanie
THE SHOP GIRL: by H.J.W. Dam and Ivan Caryll.
Superfluous relations (Charles) - Selwyn
The song of the shop (Bessie) - Melanie
Valse Song, Over the hills ("Beatrice") - Orla
Her golden hair was hanging down her back (Charles) - Michael
Man in the Moon (Lady Dodo)- Cassie
Vegetarian Song (Mr. Miggles)- Chris
INTERVAL
THE CHIEFTAIN: by Francis Burnand and Arthur Sullivan.
Let others seek the peaceful plain (Inez)- Zoe
Only the night wind sighs alone (Rita)- Orla
From rock to rock (Grigg)- [Michael] Victor
Two happy Gods (Rita)- Melanie
A courier (Ferdinand)- [Brendan] Victor
La criada (Ferdinand)- Kevin
HIS EXCELLENCY: by W.S. Gilbert and Osmond Carr.
I see with a silent awe (Christiana)- Orla
A King who is pestered with cares (Prince Regent) - [Brendan] Michael
Duet - (Harold & Blanca)- Selwyn & Cassie
My wedded life (Nanna)- Zoe
Quixotic is his enterprise (Governor)- Michael
When Utopia Ltd. closed on 9 June 1894, it was replaced at the Savoy by a French operetta written especially for the occasion. This opened on 3 July. Mirette was devised by Michel Carr who wrote the dialogue and a few of the lyrics in French; Harry Greenbank translated the French into English, that one-man lyric factory Fred E. Weatherly wrote the songs, and Andr Messager composed the music to fit the English lyrics. One asks - Why?
To answer this question (in part), we may turn to The World of 11 July 1894. This is George Bernard Shaw at his most vitriolic:
Mirette was interesting enough from a critical point of view. I have made a careful analysis of it, and have formed the following opinion as to the process by which it was produced. First, it was decided, in view of the essentially English character of the Savoy enterprise, to engage a French librettist and a French composer. Then came the appalling difficulty that Frenchmen are often clever, and are consequently in danger of writing above the heads of the British public. Consequently Messager was selected as, having learnt by the financial failure of his Basoche at the Royal English Opera (now a music hall) how very stupid the English nation is. Carr was warned to ascertain the exact British gauge by a careful preliminary study of the works of Mr. Weatherley, the most popular of English providers of words for music.
The Times, continued on a similar theme:
Carr ... must think very poorly of English dramatic taste in the present day, if he supposes the London public to be capable of taking an interest in the loves of two couples, one in high life, and the other a pair of gypsies, when there is really nothing provided in the way of action except that the aristocrat and the gypsy girl imagine themselves in love with each other for the greater part of three acts ... one is constantly reminded of such old-fashioned productions as the Bohemian Girl and Maritana, to say nothing of one scene being almost an exact replica of a situation in Esmeralda.
(Esmeralda, of course, was an opera by Sullivan's pupil Arthur Goring Thomas, based on the Hunchback of Notre Dame).
The story of Mirette was described by the critic of Vanity Fair as follows:
Mirette is a gypsy maiden. That is to say, she is not really a gypsy maiden, but has been found under a gooseberry bush by the head gypsy, and has been adopted by his band. A good deal of stress is laid upon this fact, but nothing comes of it. Probably the authors intended to make her the lost heiress of a widowed Duchess, and then altered their minds. Anyhow, Picorin, a gypsy, falls in love with her, and she rather likes him. But presently, a young noble, Gerard, finds her asleep under a tree, and makes love to her.
A comic gypsy, Bobinet, is hidden in the tree and "overhears all". But nothing comes of it. The young noble retires, and presently returns with soldiers. The gypsies all hide under blankets and rags, but nothing comes of it. They emerge suddenly for no reason, and the soldiers arrest several of them, as they originally intended to. Why they are arrested is not stated, though it does not particularly matter. Nothing comes of it.
Mirette herself goes as lady help to the aunt of Gerard, where Picorin is engaged as major-domo. It is distinctly stated that only one month elapses between the first and second acts, so of course nothing is more natural than that Picorin, a gypsy, should in that short space of time obtain employment as the most responsible of all domestic servants in a large household. But possibly Picorin was a footman or something before he became a gypsy.
As a grand fete is being given, Gerard, having thought that the gypsies were the right people to arrest in the first act, thinks they are the right people to invite in the second to come and amuse his aunt. She, however, wishes to humiliate Mirette, for whom Gerard has developed an affection; so she insists on Mirette resuming her gypsy habit and entertaining the company with a song and dance. This Mirette does, and then rushes away with her old companions to the adjacent forest, leaving Gerard so affected that he refuses to marry his cousin. But nothing comes of it. Gerard promptly changes his mind and resumes his cousin, when he discovers that Mirette and Picorin are travelling about together - quite platonically [Ho, ho!] - with a booth. Then Mirette says that she has loved Picorin all along; and why on earth she did not say so at an earlier stage of the proceedings is not very evident. A more trivial story has rarely been told at such inordinate length to an indulgent audience.
But not everyone held this view. The critic of the Pall Mall Budget, who left early, recounted a rather touching episode, too good to be lost:
The opera was not over, I blush to confess; indeed, the third act had not long begun. Two ladies went before me up the pit stairs hurrying for a train; and I heard one remark to the other, "Its such a pity we have to go, isn't it? I should have liked to know who she marries!" Thus, the story, which to me was naught, was evidently of absorbing interest to these fair playgoers. They could scarcely tear themselves away from a theatre which I was leaving of my own free will and despite remonstrances of conscience. There you have an example of the difference between the professional play-taster and the theatre-loving public; and this brings me, by a natural transition, to consider the question, "Ought criticism to be abolished?"